


Ad Astrae

by bornfrom_theashes



Series: Ad Victoriam [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Good Slytherins, Nicer than Canon Snape, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parseltongue, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Harry Potter, he's literally in chapter's i've published already, i forgot to put snape in the character tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornfrom_theashes/pseuds/bornfrom_theashes
Summary: Harry grows up with relatives a that little bit crueler, with snakes as his companions, and with a lot more knowledge of his magic.Is it any wonder the soon-to-be Golden Boy of Gryffindor doesn't end up in... well... Gryffindor?





	1. The Library

Harry Potter learned at a young age to stay quiet.

 

It was better that way.

 

At age five, he created Rule One - not to disagree when his Uncle Vernon decided something _had_ to be Harry’s fault. Even when he saw _Darling Diddykins_ give him a vicious smirk over Aunt Petunia’s shoulder, between practised sobs and faked tantrums. Even when Uncle Vernon had to have plainly seen with his own eyes that it was _Dudley_ who had broken yet another one of his toy trucks, and yet still blamed Harry for what had happened. Even when the ‘tears’ on Dudley’s face _magically_ disappeared when he was promised a new film, or video game, or his favourite dinner. Harry would always be to blame, even when everything else said otherwise. Any arguments normally left him back in the Cupboard Under The Stairs without dinner, or with a headache - courtesy of Uncle Vernon, normally - that remained for at least the rest of the day.

 

At age six, Harry created his second rule - Not to argue against his aunt and uncle, in anything. Ever. He should be _grateful_ they ever took him in. He's _lucky_ not to have been dropped off at an orphanage the moment he arrived. It was no wonder his parents got themselves killed - they must have known that he'd be such a horrible, disgusting _freak._ A freak. That was Aunt Petunia's favourite way to describe him, when he got to that age. A freak, who should have died with his parents. He knows it has to be wrong, how they're treating him, no one else was treated like _this_ at their homes, but where else, really, did he have to go?

 

At age eight, Harry learnt rule number three, the most important one for survival - hide anything that could be seen as _abnormal_. Because Aunt Petunia would throw a fit if she heard him recounting stories of teleporting in the park or at school, or of cups and glasses moving of their own accord, without them being touched, or people’s hair changing colour when he wished it, or of… the list went on - and Uncle Vernon would be furious (the first - and the last - time he mentioned strange things happening around him, he couldn't move from his cupboard for a week) - and Dudley would laugh in his face, before throwing a tantrum about something-or-other on the television.

 

When he was nine, Harry’s final rule was created - be careful, extremely careful, with trust, but make allies where you can. That year had been a bad year. People from the police or Care (with a capital C) visited three times. Once, after he collapsed in class with a Mrs Byers (“If anything is wrong outside of school, you can talk to me, you know that?”), then talked with a Miss Avers (“Is everything alright outside school, Harry?” _No,_ he'd whispered quietly, head bent to look at the floor, hoping this time something would change), then a teacher whose name was lost in his memories, who'd asked a simple “You okay?” on a bad day, receiving tears in response.

 

His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon became more angry each time, and each visit they left he lost hope. The Dursleys were the ideal, normal, law-abiding family, and no one would expect anything out of the ordinary - it only took a mention of him having some sort of ‘mental affliction’ for them to nod in sympathy, and leave after Petunia made them a cup of tea and some cake (for good measure) that Harry had probably had to make for them the day before.

 

Those teachers always were kinder to him, gave him the benefit of the doubt, more often after that.

 

He adapted to rule one with time, bitten tongues, and a lot of self-restraint, and the second took longer, but he (mostly) managed, avoiding many of the fists and harsh words that would otherwise had come his way. Rule four, he learnt immediately after the third visit and three days in the Cupboard.

 

Rule three… How could he hide something that he could barely control?

 

 _And that,_ he thought bitterly one night, _was his problem._

 

* * *

 

Some time after school had finished for the holidays, just after his eighth birthday, Dudley restarted his oh-so-fun game of Harry-Hunting. And of course, because they were all free from school, he had his whole gang of mindless minions to join him.

 

So while Harry had his usual advantage of being small - it helped when trying to find hiding places - Dudley had the higher ground (quite literally, when it came to chases through the park) with an advantage of numbers.

 

He ended up on the edge of the village.

 

He seemed to have managed to lose the others a few minutes behind him, leaving him time to find somewhere to run. And of course - because he’s _Harry Potter, who else would do it?_ \- he ran into a library, panting and gasping for breath. Almost instinctively, an old woman hissed _quiet_ in his direction from the desk, before looking up from whatever it was she was doing, switching her expression from one of irritation to sympathy.

 

“Would you like some water, dear?”

 

He nodded, his throat still sore from running for nearly a few miles, and the woman left. Harry looked around hesitantly, noticing only one or two adults, seemingly oblivious to him, in plain view. The bookshelves were stacked almost to the ceiling, the books moving from shades of black and grey to bright blues and greens as they reached further into the light.

 

The woman tapped his shoulder, and he jumped slightly before turning to face her. She held out a plastic cup to him, and he took it, gripping with both hands to be sure he couldn’t drop it.

 

“Are your parents nearby?” She _seemed_ genuinely concerned, but Harry reminded himself of Rule Four, and what happened the _last_ time he opened up. He took a sip of the water slowly, deliberately taking his time to catch his breath.

 

“Pardon?”

 

The woman smiled softly at what she must have thought was him being ‘shy’. “I asked if your parents were nearby.”

 

He shook his head, and she squinted at him. “They just live down the road,” he lied easily, “So they let me come here by myself.” The woman seemed to buy it, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder to lead him to a brightly coloured area decorated with animals. He turned away from the window quickly as he saw Dudley and Piers running past, and they didn’t even look in his direction. Success.

 

“My names Alandra, if you need me. I’ll be at the desk by the door.”

 

Harry nodded, smiling at her slightly, and she left. Letting his hand run down the spines of the bookshelves, his mind reading ahead with the titles, he pulled out a book called _The Hobbit,_ and sat in one of the beanbags on the floor, curling his legs up to lean on.

  
Well, at least he knew now there was _one_ place he could stay safe.


	2. Jasa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY SOLSTICE EVERYBODY - especially to any of my pagan friends who may be reading this, so enjoy the day :) - thank you for the comments and kudos so far, ilysm for them. If you have time, please comment here as well and I'll get back to ya when I get the time 
> 
> Anyways, without further ado:

Harry Potter knew that something wasn’t right about him.

 

Apart from the whole  _ his parents were dead _ thing.

 

He first noticed when his hair managed to grow back after Aunt Petunia had cut his it almost all off - within a night. It happened  _ again  _ almost a week later, when she attempted it again. Then, when she tried to force him into one of Dudley’s old, unworn sweaters - and it was brown and orange, she must have bought it just to spite him -  it managed to shrink gradually until it was somehow the size of a small hand puppet. Aunt Petunia tried to brush it off, saying it must have shrunk in the wash, and Harry didn’t argue the point. 

 

Even if that one could be explained, Harry  _ definitely _ could not work out how he managed to land  _ on the school roof  _ when he was running on the playground a second previously. He decided that there  _ was _ no reasonable explanation - it had to be magic.

 

_ So something wasn’t right about Harry Potter _ , he thought on the way into the library, _ and that meant something had to be done to hide it. _

 

“Alandra,” Harry whispered quietly as he walked up to the desk, handing back the copy of  _ The Two Towers  _ he’d kept hidden  in his cupboard for the past three days, “Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“If you’ve got a talent you think is really good, but you can’t do it very well, how do you get better at it?”

 

“Practise.” Alandra looked thoughtful for a second, before smiling at him. “You like your books on magic, don’t you?” She walked to one of the shelves, before pulling one off and handing it to him. “Maybe this one will help.”

 

Harry looked at the title curiously.  _ Matilda.  _ It was worth a try. He gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

The book might have been for children, but it  _ did  _ give Harry some pretty good ideas on how to improve his magic. 

 

* * *

Once he got home, Petunia set him to cleaning the upstairs bathroom, giving him the perfect opportunity to get into Dudley’s second bedroom to steal a few of his pencils without any of the Dursley’s noticing him, and he stuck them in the oversized pockets of his trousers while he waited to go back to the cupboard.

 

That night, he sat cross-legged on the bed, laying the pencils out in front of him on top of the blanket, brushing away any pieces of dirt around them. He stared at the first one in the line, picturing it moving away from the others, rolling over and over towards the wall as he wished it. It didn’t move. 

 

He tried again, scrunching his eyes shut tight as he focussed on the pencil. He could  _ feel  _ it somehow, lying in front of him, as if his hand was already on it, but it wouldn’t  _ move.  _ He tried moving the hand he could feel reaching out…

 

_ Why wouldn’t this work? _

 

Then… He felt it. It felt like a light, at the back of his mind, just out of sight, thrumming with energy. Harry kept his focus on it, letting it continue pulsing with a light that somehow matched his own heartbeat, and it had a sense of… rightness to it that stopped him from pulling away. Maybe this was what he needed to get his magic to work? This energy- or whatever it was?

 

Harry pulled at it, dragging it to the front of his mind as best he could, and it stayed. He could see it clearly now; the energy seemed to be flickering, switching rapidly between a rainbow of colours too fast for him to discern clearly, but it was  _ beautiful.  _ There was no other way to describe it. This had to be it, had to be what he was looking for. 

 

He moved his attention, keeping half on the energy, half of it on the set of pencils in front of him, and focused, again, on making it  _ move.  _ He pulled at the energy, wishing for it to direct the pencil towards the wall, pushing it away from him, and opened his eyes slowly. 

 

He had  _ done it.  _

 

* * *

 

Harry made sure to practise every night from then on. Within a week, he could move three of the pencils at the same time. By the next, he could move five, in separate directions. Through the third, he learnt to move them in any direction, from any place, without watching, even summoning them from the floor into his hand. By the fourth, he could unlock the lock on the cupboard door without making a sound, and he could sneak out each night to the kitchen to take some food from the cupboards in under a minute in complete silence. 

 

After all, if he was going to be given magic, he might as well use it. 

 

* * *

 

The garden was coldest in the mornings, hidden in shadow by the fences and houses blocking the sun. So it was no surprise at all that Aunt Petunia decided that it was the best time to get him to do the weeding. The knees of his trousers soaked wet and stained green by frosted grass just as the sun began to rise - just what he wanted in the mornings. Still, it gave him a chance to think and practise, away from his Uncle's fists, or Dudley's screaming tantrums that were bound to occur at something stupid on the TV. He'd started to get the hang of changing the temperature of his clothes and objects around him, and the mornings were the best time to try warming himself up, as he could notice the change almost immediately ( _ he'd rather not freeze to death, thank-you-very-much _ ).

 

Despite hating the weather, Harry found the gardening itself wasn't too bad - in fact, it seemed quite calming: the quiet was a nice change, and he enjoyed seeing the flowers he'd planted grow into something incredible, and he didn't particularly care if his aunt didn't see it the same way he did.

 

He focused back on the area he was working on, pulling another weed from the ground, careful not to disturb the lavender, and brushed some of the soil from his hands. 

 

_ “Stupid humans. That hurt!” _

 

He stopped. There was someone there, someone had spoken, their voice had come from between the plants. Shifting his weight forward, he edged towards the plants, moving them apart gently so as not to damage of them. 

 

It was a snake, no longer than his forearm, curled around itself and covered in darkened green scales that camouflaged almost completely with the plants’ shadows. He was sure that if he hadn’t heard the voice coming from it or seen its slight movements , he wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

 

_ “Go away!” _

 

_ “I’m sorry.” _

 

The snake stopped, almost frozen where it sat in the soil, and Harry stared at it curiously.

 

_ “You can talk.” _

 

The snake looked  _ offended  _ at him, or at least, that was how it appeared, for a brief moment, then stared right back with something akin to annoyance.

 

_ “Of course I can.”  _ Harry hesitated slightly, and the snake continued, unperturbed.  _ “You are a curious case, though. I’ve only met one other speaker, and that was long ago.”  _  It watched him for a moment.  _ “Do you have a name, Speaker?” _

 

_ “Harry. Do you have one?” _

 

_ “I am called Jasa.”  _ He could hear the hissing more clearly in the name, which was probably what anyone  _ normal  _ would hear for all of their conversation - if he was guessing right.  _ “You are magical, Speaker. Could you warm this place for me?” _

 

The snake - she sounded more feminine now, strangely enough - seemed sort of embarrassed at her request, and Harry tried to smile reassuringly. ”I’ll do my best.” He took off his gloves - although they had too many holes to really deserve that name - and placed his palms on top of the soil, gripping it slightly as he closed his eyes. Reaching back, Harry could feel the energy in his mind, no longer pulsing softly but violently flaring with bursts of energy that seemed to grow brighter each time he used his magic. 

 

A wave of satisfaction came over him as the temperature of the ground rose, a few degrees at a time, until all the frost had melted into nothingness, and Jasa wriggled comfortably.  _ “Thank you, speaker.”  _ Harry nodded, giving her another smile, before continuing the gardening a few feet away, listening while Jasa talked proudly of her newly hatched snakelets (there were four, he discovered, three male, one female, hidden at the back corner of the garden where the sun hit most in the day).

 

He was upset to be called inside by Aunt Petunia fifteen minutes later, only comforted by the knowledge that Jasa would remain in the garden as long as she could, and that she promised she would try to bring some of the other snakes she thought knew about magic there for him to speak to.

 

_ (So what if his one friend was a snake?) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a kudos or comment, I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> (Also, on another note - cause it's the (Summer, here) Solstice and you know... Great day of the year for me, I published both this chapter and another one on my Marvel work [Connections,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557857/chapters/33638334) so please check it out if you want :)


	3. The Vanishing Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry does more magic, and he probably loves snakes too much for his own good. I'm fine with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry I've been gone. If you're in the UK, you probably know that this is Mocks time, and I decided that taking four optional GCSEs was a good idea. 
> 
> A good 70% of the lines in this chapter are taken/modified from HP:TPS chapter 2 of the same name.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

__Harry shivered as he woke, wrapping the thin blanket tighter around him as he tried to focus on magicking enough warmth to stop his hands shaking - although he couldn’t tell if the trembles were from the cold itself or the dream he’d woken from. Whispers were echoing in his ears, and he couldn’t help but feel that the woman he saw in it wasn’t just someone his mind had conjured up. The red hair seemed familiar, for some reason. He couldn’t quite place why.

 

He sat silently for a few moments, drawing the heat in his hands away so it ran through his blood - a trick he’d learned after some experimentation: it took less energy than warming the area around him, so he could practise magic while comfortable.  He could just about see the first rays of sunlight poking through the gaps in the curtains and shining onto the hallway floor, golden patterns swirling in unison with each other, and he watched them for a moment through the grate in the door.

 

“Up! Get up, boy!” There was a hard rap on his door.

 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

 

Harry pulled on a shirt lying on the shelf, before he searched for a pair of socks he was  _ sure _ he’d put next to it last night. He sighed quietly as he found them in the corner, and pulled them on quickly. “Well? Are you up yet?”

 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” 

 

He felt the door unlock before he heard it, and closed his eyes for a moment to avoid the dust that fell as it opened. “Look after the bacon, and don’t you  _ dare  _ let it burn. Everything needs to be perfect for Dudley’s birthday.” It took all his self restraint to stop himself rolling his eyes.

 

The kitchen table looked as if it would snap in half under the weight of all Dudley’s presents, and he eyed them all for a second. Half of them would be in the bin or broken within the month. Exactly  _ why  _ Dudley had demanded a racing bike, he had no idea. Or a second television, when the one he’d had for Christmas in his bedroom was still working. 

 

Harry shook his head slightly, wrapping the tape back around the joint of his glasses before pushing them back up his nose and turning to the cooker, grabbing the fish slice off the counter to turn over the bacon in the pan. 

 

By the time Dudley stormed into the kitchen ahead of Petunia, he’d piled enough eggs and bacon onto the three plates to feed a small army. He balanced them on his arms, waiting by the side of the table for someone to make space for him to put them down. Vernon glared at him, as if it was  _ Harry’s  _ fault they’d decided to fill the table with presents, then gave Dudley an enthusiastic smile as he finished counting them.

 

“Thirty six?” He took a small step back as Dudley’s face fell. “That’s two less than last year!”

 

“Darling, you haven’t counted Aunt Marge’s present, see? It’s under this big one from-”

 

“All right, thirty seven then.”

 

Harry didn’t think he’d ever loved Petunia more as she staved off another Dudley Tantrum, patting him on the hand gently as she said, “And we’ll buy another two presents for you while we’re out today. How’s that?”

 

“So I’ll have… thirty…”

 

“Thirty nine, popkin.”

 

“That’s alright then.” He grinned, grabbing a large parcel that was leaning on his chair, completely oblivious to the plate of food in front of him.

 

Harry ignored whatever it was Vernon was saying when the phone rang, and Petunia jumped to answer it. Her face moved from confused, to worried, to angry, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder who was on the other end of the line as she slammed it down and walked stiffly back into the kitchen. “Bad news, Vernon,”  she said, “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take the boy.” She jerked her head in his direction. 

 

He supposed he  _ should _ feel sorry for her, but he’d always hated being left behind with Mrs Figg. It wasn’t even because he missed out on Dudley’s birthday trips - they were never really fun, anyway; her house smelled funny, and she adored telling him about the cats she’d owned. Every single one. With photographs. He could probably fill a book writing each one of their life stories.

 

_ “Now  _ what?” 

 

“We could call Marge.” Vernon suggested.

 

“She’d never get here in time. Besides, she hates the boy.”

 

He watched the two silently, smirking slightly at Vernon’s panicked face.

 

“What about, what’s her name, your friend - Yvonne?”

 

“On vacation in Majorca,” Aunt Petunia snapped.

 

“You could just leave me here,” Harry put in sullenly. He faked a frown at the floor.

 

Petunia looked at him with disgust, “And come back to find the house in ruins?” she snarled.

 

Huh. That sounded cool.

 

“I suppose we could take him with us, and just leave him in the car…” Petunia said slowly. Vernon protested loudly, and Dudley began to wail loudly. 

 

“I don’t- I don’t want… him… t-to come… with us!” He yelled between faked sobs. “He spoils  _ everything!”  _ Dudley sent him a menacing grin over Petunia’s shoulder, and he turned away, rolling his eyes.

 

Just then, the doorbell rang, and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. He’d looked almost exactly the same for the past two years - tall, thin, pale, and a face like a rat. Dudley stopped his ‘crying’ at once.

 

Ten minutes later, Harry watched Dudley and Piers squash into the back seat of the car as Vernon grabbed his shoulder and held him back a moment. 

 

“I’m warning you, boy,” he said slowly, his nose barely an inch from Harry’s own, “Any funny business, anything strange - anything at all - and you won’t be leaving your cupboard until Christmas.”

 

“I’m not going to do  _ anything.”  _

 

Vernon scoffed, forcing him towards the car as Harry wiped the spit from his face, and he climbed in between Piers and Dudley, ignoring the kicks to his shins from both sides.

 

* * *

 

For Britain, it was a strangely sunny Saturday, and the zoo was crowded full of families enjoying the warm weather. Almost as soon as they walked in, Petunia bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams, reluctantly buying him a cheap lemon ice pop when the woman in the van asked what he wanted. It wasn’t too bad, either, Harry thought, as they walked past a gorilla that looked almost exactly like Dudley, minus the blond hair.

 

He walked a little way behind the Dursleys to avoid Dudley and Piers, who’d started kicking at the ground in boredom by lunchtime, and were sending him malicious grins every so often. Even so, it was still a fun morning - he’d managed to steal the last of Dudley’s food at lunch when he complained that it didn’t have enough chips, and Vernon ordered him another one to replace it, and he’d got to look at all the animals by himself without having to listen to any of their voices for a while when they stopped for a snack. 

 

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was colder than outside, with tanks lit all along the walls, full of all sorts of lizards and snakes slithering over the stones. Dudley and Piers ran over to the cobras and the ‘man-eating’ pythons (Harry didn’t believe that for a second), and quickly found the largest snake in the place, pressing his nose against the glass to watch it.

 

“Make it move.” 

 

Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake ignored him.

 

“Do it again!” He knocked on the glass hard, and Harry rolled his eyes at the snake in front of him as he saw the ‘Do Not Touch The Glass’ sign affixed to the wall.  “This is boring.”

 

He rolled his eyes again. That snake was probably dying of boredom itself, lying there all day long with only stupid people knocking on the glass for company. He moved in front of the tank, and watched as it opened its eyes, slowly, and raised its head to watch him.

 

He smiled.

 

“Hello.”

 

The snake seemed shocked, a look he recognised from the snakes Jasa occasionally brought to the garden to meet him, and he winked.

 

It winked back.

 

_ “Annoying aren’t they?” _

 

The snake nodded vigorously, and he continued - “ _ Give me a minute. _ ”

 

As the snake hissed, he jumped at a deafening shout from Piers behind him. “Dudley! Mr. Dursley! Look at this snake! You won’t believe what it’s doing!”

 

Harry moved out of the way before he could be pushed to the floor, and moved to the tanks of grass snakes on the opposite wall, placing a hand on the edge of the glass there, and pulling at his magic to make it disappear. After a whisper, they slid up inside his sleeve, and he turned slightly, stretching his magic out again to the glass on the boa constrictor’s tank. 

 

One second, Dudley and Piers were leaning up close to the glass, the next, they leapt back with howls of horror -  it had vanished.

 

The snake uncoiled itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. Throughout the reptile house, he watched people screaming and running for the exits, and he followed them out. As the snake slid swiftly past him, he heard a low, hissing voice say,  _ “Brazil here I come. Thanksss, amigo.” _

 

* * *

 

The zoo’s manager himself made Aunt Petunia a strong cup of tea while he apologized over and over again for the ‘disaster’. Piers and Dudley barely said a word, shaking in the corner of the room. From what he had seen, the snake had only turned its head in their direction, but by the time they had reached Vernon’s car, they were recounting how it had nearly bitten off their legs or attempted to squeeze them to death. Harry barely managed to stifle his laughter.

  
  
  


That night, Jasa gained three more friends, and Harry got two days in the cupboard. He didn’t regret it for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and if you could leave a comment or kudos, that would be amazing! I'm always up for writing some reader-comment-inspired content, so if you have any ideas...


	4. Mr H. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this is taken from HPTPS:Letters from No One (ch.4)
> 
> Enjoy!

Uncle Vernon didn’t doubt that Harry had  _ something  _ to do with the Zoo Incident, and so Harry spent another two days in his cupboard practising magic in the dark. By the time he left it again, Dudley had already managed to break his new video camera, and had crashed into Mrs Figg crossing the street while riding his new racing bike for the first time. 

 

School was finally over. Harry spent most of his free time at the library, avoiding Piers, Dudley, Dennis and Malcolm - Dudley’s brainless gang - who visited the house every day and seemed to get angrier and angrier each day he wasn’t there to play ‘Harry Hunting’ with. At least in September, they’d be going to different secondary schools; Dudley had been accepted at Smeltings, Vernon’s old private school, as had Piers. Harry, on the other hand, was going to the local public school, Stonewall High, which delighted Dudley.

 

“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,” he told Harry, “Want to come upstairs and practice?”

 

“No thanks. The toilet’s never had anything as horrible as your head down it. It might be sick.” Then Harry ran, before Dudley could work out what he’d said.

 

The day after that, Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, which he paraded around the living room for the family that same evening - maroon tailcoats, orange trousers, and flat straws. They also carried long wooden sticks used for hitting each other when the teachers weren’t looking. Harry was slightly concerned for anyone who ended up in Dudley’s classes. Uncle Vernon just laughed, and called it ‘good training for later life’.

 

Petunia burst into tears watching him, and said she couldn’t believe her Ickle Dudders was all grown up and handsome, while Vernon gruffly said that it was the proudest moment of his life. Harry bit harder into his lip - he was pretty sure he’d broken a rib trying not to laugh.  
  


* * *

 

 

The next morning, Harry woke up earlier than the rest of the house, and ended up opening the backdoor, letting Jasa and the three snakes he’d brought back from the zoo in to his cupboard. He could speak to them, too - they were siblings, though they weren’t named, and were happy for Harry to give them each one:  he called the first Jörmungandr, the second Veles, and Ninazu for the third, all names he remembered for snakes in the mythology books he’d read so far in the library that summer.

 

_ Thump! _

 

Harry jumped at the noise, coughing at the onslaught of dust that fell from the cupboard ceiling. The snakes wrapped around his arms and stomach quickly, hissing violently at the door as Petunia approached it. 

 

“Up, boy!”

 

“I’m awake, Aunt Petunia,” he replied. She  _ hmphed  _ dismissively and unlocked the door, directing him into the kitchen almost as soon as he stood up to start the breakfast. She followed him in, placing a tub into the sink, full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water. “What’s that?”

 

Her lips tightened slightly, as if just hearing his voice made her suffer. “Your new school uniform.”

 

“Oh. I didn’t realise it had to be so…” he stared at the bowl again, “...wet.”

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” snapped Aunt Petunia, clipping him around the head, “I’m dying some of Dudley’s old things grey for you. It’ll look just like everyone else’s when I’m finished.”

 

Harry seriously doubted that, but didn’t bother arguing, focusing on cooking the eggs and bacon instead. He’d probably look like he was wearing elephant skins, but he guessed the teasing for that couldn’t be worse than anything he’d experienced in school before.

 

Dudley and Vernon walked in a few minutes later, both wrinkling their noses at the smell from the sink. Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley smacked his Smeltings’ stick - which he carried everywhere now, on the off chance he could poke Harry with it - onto the table. There was a click from the door and a flop of letters onto the mat.

 

“”Could you get the mail, please, Dudley?”

 

“Make Harry get it.”

 

“Get the mail, Harry.”

 

He rolled his eyes once his back was turned. Three letters were on the doormat - a postcard from Vernon’s sister Marge, who was apparently vacationing in Greece, an envelope that looked like a bill, and a letter for… him?

 

He stared in disbelief for a moment. No one had ever written to him. And yet, quite plainly, it was written in bright emerald green:

 

_ Mr H Potter _

_ The Cupboard Under the Stairs _

_ Little Whinging _

_ Surrey _

 

He shook his head slightly, and slid it under the door to the cupboard. If any of the Dursley’s saw it, they’d take it straight off him. This was  _ Harry’s.  _ He could look at it later.

 

“Hurry up, boy!” called Vernon as he walked into the kitchen, “What were you doing, checking for letter bombs?” He chuckled at his own joke, and Harry handed him the letters, then went back to the grill. Petunia watched him hand over the letters, gave a smile and a somewhat satisfied nod, then turned back to the sink. 

 

_ What was that about? _

 

Vernon tore into his envelope, snorting in disgust, and muttering under his breath as he read, then flipped over the postcard.

 

“Marge’s ill,” he informed Petunia, and Harry gave a mental cheer, “Ate something funny…”

 

He drowned out their conversation after that, dishing out breakfast then heading to the garden once Petunia nodded at him to leave. 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry spent the rest of the day in a haze, completing his chores automatically as his mind drifted to the letter in the cupboard. He couldn’t think of anyone who would write to him. Who would? The Dursleys were the only relatives he knew about, he had no friends in school - Dudley made sure of that - and there were no library books he could think of that he hadn’t returned. There wasn’t  _ anyone  _ he’d seen using that kind of thick yellow paper either, especially not for letters. 

 

_ Maybe it was a joke of some sort? _

 

That didn’t explain why Petunia had had such a strange reaction, though. She’d been tense before it had arrived, that was obvious, but she seemed absolutely fine once she’d seen what letters he was carrying. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

 

_ “-eaker! Harry!” _

 

_ “I’m sorry, Jasa. What were you saying?” _

 

Harry shook his head as he listened to Jasa and Jörmungandr. Petunia was going to notice something was wrong if he kept daydreaming.  
  
  


* * *

 

 

He forced himself to behave normally for the rest of the day, hard as it was, but once everyone went to bed, he was practically buzzing with excitement. He made a small ball of light as soon as he sat down on his mattress and picked the letter up from the floor with trembling fingers, reading the address on the front again.

 

_ Mr H Potter _

_ The Cupboard Under the Stairs _

_ Little Whinging _

_ Surrey _

 

_ How did this person know where his bedroom was? _

 

Harry bit his lip, and flipped the letter over. There was a seal, a  _ wax seal  _ of all things, there, and he made the light brighter to make it out - it was maroon, had a coat of arms on: a lion, a badger, an eagle, and a snake, surrounding a large letter ‘H’. He pulled it off the paper carefully, not wanting to break it, and placed it on the shelf before pulling out the two papers from inside.

 

_ HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_ Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE _

_ (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) _

 

_ Dear Mr. Potter, _

 

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_ Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. _

 

_ Yours sincerely, _

 

_ Minerva McGonagall, _

_ Deputy Headmistress _

 

No way.

 

_ He wasn’t the only one with magic. _

 

* * *

 

It took barely a minute for him to find some paper, and he practically skipped back to bed once he had to pen his reply. 

 

_ Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, _

 

_ I eagerly accept my place at Hogwarts. However, I don’t know where I can find the equipment I need. Could you please tell me where I could buy it?  _

_ Thank you, _

_ Harry Potter _

 

Now he just had to find an owl. Hopefully, there was one who’d delivered it who was waiting for him It  _ was  _ night time.

 

He crept towards the front door, pressing a hand against the lock until he heard it click, and opened the door just enough for him to sneak outside. It was a full moon, and he was grateful he didn’t have to make another light to look around. 

 

Almost immediately, he could see an owl perched on a tree branch across the street, and he walked over slowly, watching out for anyone. There was a young couple halfway down the road, but they were facing away from him, so he ignored them, and focused on the owl. It stared at him, unblinking, and Harry couldn’t help but hesitate before approaching, holding his arm out. He nearly jumped back in shock as it swooped down to land on it.

 

“Can you understand me, then?” he whispered. Slowly, the owl blinked, and Harry took that as a ‘yes’, “Could you take this to Hogwarts for me? Please,”  he added, holding out the letter. He held his breath. The letter hadn’t exactly said how to do this.

 

The owl, however, seemed to understand, and grasped the letter in its talons, taking off suddenly. 

 

“Brilliant,” he murmured softly, and he turned back to Number Four, a grin plastered onto his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 5/Feb/19:  
>  So I'm _attempting_ to work on chapter five right now, kinda lost on where I want to go (and _this_ , Natalie, is why you plan out your works beforehand). Who would you like to see taking Harry to Diagon? Most people I've spoken to seem to think Snape or McGonagall, any deciding opinions? It's kinda split. 
> 
> If you don't want to comment, I'm on tumblr at @bornfrom-theashes, so please feel absolutely free to pm me?


	5. Hellos and Goodbyes

For the next few days after the letter had arrived, Aunt Petunia started acting strangely: waking up earlier than usual to check the mail, giving him smug, satisfied smiles for the rest of the day, while nearly halving the amount of chores he had to do. Harry had no doubt she knew  _ something _ about the letter - it made sense: Petunia had always been the one most angry whenever he had done something ‘magical’ - not to say that uncle Vernon wasn’t troubled by it, but she had always been worse whenever it came to magic.

 

Harry sat on his bed, staring at the front door through the open grate. He’d woken up earlier that morning; yesterday, he’d received another letter while he was in the garden. It was shorter than the first, and said that a teacher from Hogwarts would be coming to his house that day to take him to somewhere called ‘Diagon Alley’, to get his school supplies He hadn’t quite held in a sigh of relief when he saw it. Harry had been worried - just a little - that they hadn’t got his reply.

 

He could hear Petunia’s alarm clock shrieking from upstairs, and he changed, letting Jasa and Ninazu slither under the sleeves of his shirt, while Jörmi and Veles snuggled deeper under the pillow on his bed, hissing indignantly when he shuffled off the blanket. They seemed to be making themselves at home at Privet Drive, and enjoyed telling him about the discoveries they made wandering his and the neighbour’s gardens at the end of each day. (Jörmi was convinced that the cat next door was out for his blood, and often fled back to him at random moments when there was an attempted ‘murder’.)

 

A few moments later, the telling creak of Petunia’s shoes sounded above him, and he headed to the kitchen as soon as she opened the cupboard, automatically reaching for the frying pan off the shelf. It was just as he was opening the fridge that there was a knock from the front door, and aunt Petunia hissed, “Who on  _ earth  _ is out there at  this  hour?” She patted out, re-tying her dressing gown, as Harry continued making breakfast, though he tried to listen out for whoever was there. She must have guessed what he was thinking, because she closed the door behind her as soon as she left. He placed the spatula down on the worktop, and headed to it, opening it just a fraction just as Aunt Petunia flung open the front door, and screeched-

 

“What the  _ hell  _ are you doing here?”

 

_ Ouch.  _ He felt sorry for whoever was on the other end of  _ that. _

 

“Petunia. Not at all a pleasure,”  the visitor replied quietly, “I think you  know  why I’m here.”

 

Harry pushed the door open a little more, just enough to see a tall, dark haired man at the door, wearing what he thought was… a cloak? That seemed like something that someone magic would wear.

 

“He’s not going. We promised when you people dumped the boy on our doorstep that we’d put a stop to that rubbish. He’s not going to that freakish place.” Harry felt his mouth drop open and closed it quickly. So Petunia  _ had  _ known about Hogwarts and magic, this whole time?

 

There was a loud BANG from upstairs, and Harry jumped as Vernon yelled, “Who’s at the door, Pet?”

 

“Get inside, if you’re not going to leave,” Petunia ordered in a whisper, “I don’t want the neighbours seeing your type here.” Then, to Vernon, who was lumbering loudly down the stairs, she called, “You’d better come down here.” As she turned around, Harry could see his Aunt’s face had paled, and he moved out of her sight.

 

That was… interesting. How had this man known aunt Petunia? There was no way she was magical; she hated just  _ hearing  _ about magic, and there wasn’t a reason for them to have met. But maybe… Maybe it wasn’t Petunia he knew, but her sister? His mother Lily?

 

Harry quickly shook his head. No. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. 

 

Instead, he turned around, pressing his ear to the kitchen’s door to the living room to try and hear their conversation, and he grinned as the man said: “I see you’re still trying to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong,  _ Tuney.  _ Potter’s had his name down for Hogwarts since birth.”

 

“He’s not going,” Vernon repeated, “We swore we’d stamp that nonsense out of him when he arrived, whatever it took. Now, I’ll admit there’s something strange about that boy, nothing a good beating shouldn't've cured,” he spat, “but I’m not paying for some crackpot old  _ fool _ to teach him damned magic tricks. Potter’s going to Stonewall High and he’ll be bloody grateful for it.”

 

“And  _ how,  _ exactly, do you think you’re going to stop him?” The man’s words were barely audible, but both Vernon and Petunia went silent. “His acceptance letter has already been received. If you want to  _ try  _ to keep him here, that’s your choice, but you’ll be welcoming the Ministry of Magic to your doors a few days later. And I’m sure that you don’t want your  _ normal  _ neighbours to see that.”

 

“Ac-acceptance letter?”

 

“Indeed.” The man paused, then Harry jumped as he called out, “Mr. Potter, if you’d like to join us instead of lurking, this conversation _does_ concern you.” He blushed slightly as he opened the door, but ignored the furious glares from Petunia and Vernon, and turned to his visitor.

 

He wasn’t exactly what he expected a wizard to look like, and at the same time, he was perfectly what he expected. He was tall, not massively so, but enough to be imposing, and dressed in nearly all black - robes, and a cloak that fell to his feet. He was dark-haired, and it contrasted with pale skin which looked as if it hadn’t seen a day’s sun in years. In his hand, sat a stick of wood that his relatives kept flicking their eyes to. A wand.

 

Somehow, in that one moment, it all seemed more real.

 

_ He had magic. Magic was real. And he wasn’t the only one with it. _

 

Breathing slowly in an attempt to calm himself down, he held out a hand, “Good morning, sir. I’m Harry Potter… though I guess you already knew that.” He felt his face heat up again. “Nice to meet you.”

  
  


The man hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, “Professor Severus Snape, potions master at Hogwarts. The Headmaster has asked me to take you to get your supplies.”

 

“Sorry, Professor, but if my relatives won’t, how am I supposed to pay for them?”

 

Professor Snape stared slightly at his aunt before he said, “I had low expectations for you, Petunia, but somehow you’ve managed to sink even lower. Your parents, Potter, left a large trust fund for you to get you through your schooling at the least, along with another vault for when you turn seventeen.” 

 

“What?” Harry glared, turning to Petunia. “You knew. This whole time, you knew.”

 

“Of course we knew. How could we not, my dratted sister being the-”   
  


“Do you really want to finish that sentence?” Professor Snape had stood up faster than he could register, and held his wand to Petunia’s face, which was paling rapidly, and she stuttered out something indecipherable. Harry couldn’t help but feel a little fear at the expression of fury on his face, and it suddenly changed into one of calm as he turned back in his direction. “Good. I’m glad that’s out the way. Mr. Potter, we should be going, if you’d like to get everything today.”

 

“Boy-” Vernon started, and Harry was surprised he was still able to talk- “If you leave, That’s it. You’re not welcome back. We’ll not have you here, corrupting this family.”

 

“I’d rather leave than spend another day in this house,” he said simply. “I’ll just be a second, professor, I need to get my supply list.”

 

He ignored the splutters of shock that followed him from the room, forcing himself to walk to the cupboard-under-the-stairs, rather than run, but he still ended up flinging open it’s door and hissing violently, “Veles, Jörmi, I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back.” He could hear the protests from where the two snakes came out from under his pillow. “You can come with me, but I won’t ever be back here,” he said, and he smiled as the two rushed to his wrists. “Good. I didn’t want to leave you behind.”

 

He picked up the letter from off the floor, blowing off the dust gathered there, and slipped it inside one of his few books - his favourite one, that Alandra had given him years ago at the library, Matilda - and turned to face the professor, whose expression had soured slightly as he watched him. He smiled grimly, then said into the living room, 

 

“Goodbye, Petunia, Vernon. I hope I never have to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed, those really make my day :)


	6. The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's commented so far. Seeing y'all in my inbox has really been making my days better in the lead up to GCSEs, and I really appreciate all the support for this story!
> 
> enjoy :)

Severus Snape was not having a good day.

 

He’d not slept, having been forced to watch over two potions through the previous night, because  _ of course  _ making a potion that needed to  be under observation for twenty-three hours was what he’d wanted to spend his day doing. (There were days he regretted not becoming an independent potions master, and this was definitely one of them.) Then, Madam Hooch had stolen the last of his coffee when he was  _ finally  _ able to go down to breakfast. Aurora had  _ then  _ told him that one of his best Slytherins was moving abroad with his family, and transferring from Hogwarts. And of course, Dumbledore had decided to top of his day by asking him to take James Potter’s spawn to Diagon Alley personally, as if the spoilt brat didn’t get enough attention already.

 

(And Dumbledore’s knowing smile and the abnormal twinkling in his eyes did nothing to assuage his mood. The man had to be doing this just to spite him.)

 

And so, as the muggles would say, he was having a _terrible,_ _horrible, no good, very bad day._

 

He apparated into an alleyway a few roads away from Potter’s house a few minutes before nine, casting a modified disillusionment charm over himself to redirect the muggle’s attention away from him. With how quiet the neighbourhood was, he doubted he really needed it, but he erred on the side of caution all the same as he walked down the path to Privet Drive. Severus couldn’t quite help a sniff of disdain as he looked down the street. It was so stereotypically  _ muggle,  _ with barely a hint of originality between one house and the next; each the exact same brick red, with brown painted window-frames and doors, lawns all an inch above the pavement, lined with bushes that generally failed to flare with a flower’s colour. In fact, he noted to himself, the only ones that seemed to have had any success were around Number Four itself, which he had little doubt was to do with the residual magic there. 

 

He knocked the door quickly, moving his wand from his cloak to its holster on his arm as he waited. After a few moments, he finally heard steps, and the door was flung open. He had barely opened his mouth when the woman in front of him screeched,

 

“What the  _ hell  _ are you doing here?”

 

The voice was familiar, and it took Severus a second to place it, but when he had, he didn’t even try to hide the disgust that showed on his face. “Petunia. Not at all a pleasure,”  he replied, “I think you  _ know  _ why I’m here.”

 

“He’s not going,” Petunia started, “We promised when you people dumped the boy on our doorstep that we’d put a stop to that rubbish. He’s not going to that freakish place.” He sighed. The woman still was thinking like her eleven-year-old self. Severus wasn’t surprised by that— 

 

But he was surprised that Potter had been placed with her. Albus had said before he’d left - and enough times even before  _ that  _ to Minerva and Hagrid - that the boy was happy  _ (spoilt,  _ he’d assumed). That he had someone in place to watch over him, outside the ‘ideal’ family he’d been placed with, and he hadn’t much doubted that… But Petunia was who he thought was best? The woman who hated magic?  _ Really? _ He was sure Lily would never have agreed to  _ that. _

 

A loud shout of, “Who’s at the door, Pet?” pulled him out of his thoughts quickly, and he looked back to Petunia.

 

“Get inside, if you’re not going to leave. I don’t want the neighbours seeing your type here.” Then, to the man upstairs, she called, “You’d better come down here.”

 

Paranoid as ever, then.

 

“Vernon,” she whispered to her husband as he entered the living room behind them, “He’s one of them.” Severus raised an eyebrow as they both glanced at him, eyes wide. “I’ve told him he’s not going, but he won’t listen.”

 

“I see you’re still trying to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong,  _ Tuney.  _ Potter’s had his name down for Hogwarts since birth.”

 

“He’s not going,” Vernon repeated, and Severus blocked him out to look around the room. It, like Privet Drive, was perfectly muggle, and if he hadn’t known a wizard lived there, he doubted he would have guessed. The sun was creeping through the curtains, and shone onto the mantelpiece, highlighting a collection of photos; each showed a large blond boy riding a bicycle, or in a photoshoot with Vernon and Petunia, or playing a computer game, or lying on a beach. Strangely enough, the boy didn’t look at all like Lily  _ or  _ James. Another child, then. But why was there no sign of Potter?

 

He shook himself out of his thoughts quickly, and tuned into Vernon’s words, lowering his voice slightly as he spoke again-

 

“And  _ how,  _ exactly, do you think you’re going to stop him? His acceptance letter has already been received. If you want to  try  to keep him here, that’s your choice, but you’ll be welcoming the Ministry of Magic to your doors a few days later. And I’m sure that you don’t want your  _ normal  _ neighbours to see that.”

 

“Ac-acceptance letter?” So they  _ hadn’t  _ known about Potter’s Hogwarts letter - that he’d even received it? If Potter had hidden the letter from his relatives for a reason… Maybe Albus hadn’t been telling the truth about how ‘happy’ he was here. 

 

“Indeed.” They were being watched. He could feel it, and he cast a wandless _Hominem revelio,_ noting the slight movement from behind the door. Smiling slightly, he called out, “Mr. Potter, if you’d like to join us instead of lurking, this conversation _does_ concern you.”

 

The boy that walked in definitely  _ wasn’t  _ the boy in the photos - there was no mistaking that this was Harry Potter. He shared most of his appearance with his father: though he was much shorter and thinner (something he noted with concern - he was much too small to be healthy)), he had the same messy black hair, was just as pale, and wore uncannily similar glasses, though they were held together with cellotape. But they hid shadowed eyes - Lily’s eyes - behind them, a bright green that he could see even from across the room. 

 

“Good morning, sir. I’m Harry Potter… though I guess you already knew that.” Despite the overly-polite tone, Severus could just about hear the nerves. It was something he’d picked up on after years with Slytherins, who were often those to come from less-than-ideal background. “Nice to meet you.”

 

He hesitated, anyway, before introducing himself. “Professor Severus Snape, potions master at Hogwarts. The Headmaster has asked me to take you to get your supplies.”

 

“Sorry, Professor, but if my relatives won’t, how am I supposed to pay for them?”

 

He could admit he was stopped silent by that, and he glanced over to Petunia for a moment. She was nervous, that was obvious enough, and he risked a basic  _ leglimency  _ as he looked in her direction. He winced slightly, as he moved through her surface thoughts. She’d told Potter  _ nothing.  _ About his parents, about how they died, about his fame, not even that he had  _ magic.  _ How he’d worked out enough to send an acceptance letter to Minerva, Severus had no idea. 

 

“I had low expectations for you, Petunia, but somehow you’ve managed to sink even lower. Your parents, Potter, left a large trust fund for you to get you through your schooling at the least, along with another vault for when you turn seventeen.” He could tell him about Lily and James later on; he doubted it would be comfortable around these people.

 

“What?” Potter turned to Petunia, shocking even him with the black look he sent in her direction. “You knew. This whole time, you knew.”

 

“Of course we knew. How could we not, my dratted sister being the—”

 

And  _ that  _ was the last Severus could deal with that damned woman. “Do you really want to finish that sentence?” She whimpered slightly, and he replaced his wand in it’s holster. “Good. I’m glad that’s out the way.” He softened his tone slightly, as he continued, “Mr. Potter, we should be going, if you’d like to get everything today.”

“Boy—” Vernon started— “If you leave, That’s it. You’re not welcome back. We’ll not have you here, corrupting this family.”

 

He refrained from choking on his breath.  _ Corrupting?  _

 

“I’d rather leave than spend another day in this house,” Potter said simply. “I’ll just be a second, professor, I need to get my supply list.”

  
He only nodded in response, and once Potter had left the room, he murmured lowly, silencing both adults: “Wizards don’t take well to people harming one of their own. Especially not someone as important to them as Harry Potter. Just a warning.” With that, he swept from the room to the front door, pursing his lips as he saw Potter grabbing only a book and his supply list out from a cupboard beneath the stairs. He would be speaking to Albus later, Severus had no doubt. 

 

As Potter turned to him, he could see the determination on his face, and he almost applauded as the boy called out, “Goodbye, Petunia, Vernon. I hope I never have to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i hope you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or kudos, or maybe subscribe. you can talk to me at [my tumblr](https://its-natatatalie.tumblr.com), where i'll soon be sharing some original works (shameless self promo there)
> 
> see y'all later!


	7. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BITCH WHAT HOW LONG IS THIS CHAPTER  
> (double the amount i normally write is the fucking answer, YES)
> 
> SO, my brain seems to be compensating for how little I can revise by getting me over my writer's block and giving me more inspiration. Not like I have GCSEs right now. No. Not at all. 
> 
> Anyway, y'all benefit from me failing my exams, so whatever. enjoy. love you.

Harry followed Professor Snape through the door in silence, holding his book close to his chest. Blood was rushing through his ears, almost deafening, and he forced himself to breathe because _oh god, he’d just left the Dursleys._

 

He’d barely registered how many streets they’d walked, until the Professor turned and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, guiding into alleyway he hadn’t noticed. Harry stopped, looking around. Was there something he was supposed to be seeing here?

 

“Mister Potter, if you’d hold onto my arm, we’ll be apparating to Diagon Alley,” Professor Snape paused, and before Harry could ask, he explained, “Diagon Alley is wizards’ main shopping location, where we’ll be getting your supplies. Apparition is… Somewhat similar to teleportation, though I’ll warn you it’s a rather unpleasant feeling at first.” Harry nodded silently, and grabbed the Professor’s wrist.

 

And suddenly, Professor Snape twisted, he gripped harder, and everything went black, his eyes were being forced back into his skull, his ears pushing into his head, his lungs squeezing tighter, tighter in his chest as his ribs crushed themselves around him and he choked, hard, and then-

 

He could breath, and he gasped, keeling over as he pressed his eyes shut. _Unpleasant? Understatement of the century._

 

It was a few seconds before Harry realised he wasn’t in Little Whinging anymore, and Professor Snape was holding out a vial of something purple. “Anti-nausea potion,” he stated, “Drink it all in one, if you can.”

 

For something that was supposed to _stop_ nausea, the potion tasted horrible, but the stirring in his stomach calmed, and Harry finally looked around where they were standing. He instantly wished he had another pair of eyes to stop and stare as they started walking past each shop. The sun shone bright on a stack of cauldrons, sat under a sign that read _Cauldrons -- All Sizes -- Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver -- Self-Stirring -- Collapsible,_ in front of Potage’s Cauldron Shop. A few shops down, he watched as a woman outside the red-painted Slugs’ and Jiggers’ Apothecary yell, “Frog’s eyes! Two galleons a pound, fully preserved! Getcha frogs eyes here!” He turned his head again, and by his ear, a raven screeched, sitting on a pole outside the Magical Menagerie. The Alley was full of colour, bright robes and lights flashing in every direction he turned, and he couldn’t quite hide a grin.

 

“Wow.”

 

This was _brilliant!_

 

“It’s wonderful, Mister Potter,” Professor Snape interrupted his thought abruptly, before pointing to the end of the path, “But you won’t be getting any of it unless you get money for your supplies, first.”

 

“Oh.” He looked around wistfully, and then quickly followed the Professor, dodging the crowds of people shopping. He didn’t want to leave for even a second.

 

At the end of Diagon Alley was a building he was shocked to not have noticed at first; it was snowy white, towering over all the other shops by a few feet; between the first and second floor, the words _Gringotts Bank_ were carved; underneath, its doors were burnished gold, and he noticed a polished plaque to the side of them that read:

 

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_   
_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_   
_For those who take, but do not earn,_   
_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_   
_A treasure that was never yours,_   
_Thief, you have been warned, beware_   
_Of finding more than treasure there._

 

He read it over again, and shivered slightly.

 

“Goblins don’t like to be crossed,” the Professor murmured just loud enough for him to hear, and Harry jolted. Goblins?

 

The doors opened as they walked up to them, and _oh. Goblins._

 

Sitting on high stools behind a long counter that circled the entrance hall, or coming and going through the many doors around the walls, were men a few inches shorter than Harry. They each had a swarthy face, and at least half wore a pointed beard that came down to their chest; he also noticed as they walked further into the room that they had abnormally long fingers. The room itself was lavish: each door was silver, and the floors and walls were made of marble, partially covered by elaborate tapestries and carpets; the desk had creatures and patterns carved into the wood, polished to perfection, and in front of some of the goblins were gold and brass scales, weighing coins, at others sat piles of gemstones.

 

Professor Snape strode to one of the free goblins and bowed his head slightly in greeting, and Harry copied him (just in case he was supposed to, he wasn’t exactly sure). He took out a key from one of his pockets. “Good morning,” he greeted simply, “We’ve come to withdraw some money from Harry Potter’s vault.”

 

The goblin took the key, inspecting it for a moment. “That seems to be in order.”

 

“I’ll also need to return later to another vault.” He handed over a letter stamped with a wax seal, and Harry couldn’t help but be curious. “Hogwarts’ business. Nothing you need to worry about, Mister Potter.”

 

Handing the letter back to Professor Snape, the goblin nodded. “Very well. We’ll expect you later today. Griphook!” he suddenly called out, and Harry jumped as the goblin in question walked over to them. “Mister Potter wishes to visit his vault.” The first goblin handed the golden key back to Harry, and gestured for them to follow behind Griphook. They walked behind him through one of the silver doors, and unlike the entrance hall, the passageway was narrow and torches lit stone walls, rather than marble. It sloped steeply downwards, and for a moment, Harry wondered what it must be like for people who couldn’t walk, and used a wheelchair. Maybe that wasn’t a problem for wizards.

 

He brushed the thought off as they reached a pair of railway tracks, and at Griphook’s whistle, a small cart came hurtling down the tracks towards them. They clambered in, and before Harry could sit down properly, the cart shot off. It twisted through a maze of twisting passageways, and he tried to remember the pathway, but after the seventh _left_ he admitted defeat. The cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn’t steering - Magic, he reminded himself.

 

He could barely keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, the cold air rushing past them making them water and sting, but in each of those few seconds he could see something new - stalactites and stalagmites growing from the ceiling and floor; goblins striking pickaxes at unmarked cliffs of rock where he briefly saw glimmers of gems; once, a massive burst of flame from deep below them, but they turned again before he could see the cause.

 

When the cart at last stopped at last near a small door, he noticed the Professor pull out a vial of purple liquid he’d given him earlier, and down it in one gulp, almost immediately reducing the green in his pallor. Harry could understand - he was dizzy just thinking about the cart ride.

 

Griphook walked up past them, taking the key from Harry’s hand when he offered it, and unlocked the door. There was a glimmer of light, and a billow of green smoke as it slowly opened, and Harry gasped as it cleared. Inside were mounds of gold, silver, and bronze coins.

 

“This can’t all be mine,” Harry said softly, “How much even _is_ there?

 

Griphook pressed a strange button on the inside of the door, and read something he couldn’t make out. “Five hundred galleons, to be refilled to that amount on January first of each year until you come of age.”

 

Even Professor Snape looked slightly staggered by that, and Harry asked  again, “Ho-How much of that do I need for my things for Hogwarts?”

 

“Approximately three hundred galleons - the gold coins—” Griphook added quickly as he started to interrupt—“would cover costs for the highest quality supplies and any… extra items you’d wish to buy. It’s a standard amount for trust funds in Ancient and Noble families.”

 

Harry swallowed slightly. That _couldn’t_ be right.

 

Professor Snape put a hand on his arm. “Breathe, Potter.” It took more effort than he thought was healthy to do so, but he nodded and complied. Glancing around the vault, Harry noticed a small velvet bag on a small shelf on the wall, with a simple note above it. _Linked - Potter Trust Vault._

 

“Mister Griphook?” He pointed over to the bag once he had his attention, “What’s that for?”

 

The goblin grinned, and to Harry it seemed somewhat proud. “Ah. _That_ was invented by my grandfather; it gives you access to your vault from anywhere, so you don’t need to carry coins around with you.” He nodded at Harry approvingly, “You’re welcome to use it. Most are to oblivious to even notice they have one.”

 

He smiled slightly in return, and took the bag from the shelf, and Griphook locked the vault behind them as they stepped out, handing the key back to Harry once they were in the cart again. A few dizzying minutes later, and he and Professor Snape stood back outside in the sunlight.

 

At the Professor’s recommendation, they stopped off first at a shop that sold trunks. He let Harry go look around on his own, claiming he was _avoiding the crowds,_ to his delight. For once in his life, Harry could fit in and buy things for _himself_ , to make him happy, rather than relying on the Dursley’s. He smiled to himself. Harry had the chance to make an impression, here. No one, apart from Professor Snape and some of the goblins, knew who he was yet. He didn’t have Dudley a step ahead of him in school, spreading rumours and lies before he could talk to a single person. Now, Harry had the chance to be _powerful._

 

‘Highest quality supplies’, Griphook had said. Well, he might as well make an impression.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Harry walked out of Tormund’s Trunks and Transport _,_ holding a ‘best-of-the-range, multi-compartment’ trunk in his _pocket._ One of the owners, a friendly man called Caelus, had told him the trunk would shrink and grow at the tap of his wand, and had been happy to demonstrate so he wouldn’t have to carry it around the Alley for the rest of the day. He loved magic. The Professor didn’t seem surprised when he walked out carrying nothing, so he guessed it was something that wizards and witches did normally. As they walked to their next shop - for him to get him robes (and a new set of clothes, he thought, remembering how suddenly he’d left the Dursleys)- Harry finally spoke again:

 

“Can you tell me about Hogwarts?”

 

Professor Snape sighed, but he didn’t seem annoyed. “Hogwarts is split into four houses based off its four founders: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. They sleep in the same areas, work together for lessons and house points; they become your family at school. When you enter Hogwarts for the first time, you’ll be sorted into one of the houses.”

 

“Is it random?”

 

“The sorting? No. It’s based off your character, or at least, that’s what everyone believes.” He paused in thought. “Ravenclaw values learning and the pursuit of knowledge. Hufflepuff values loyalty, dedication and hard work. Gryffindor’s value bravery, chivalry, and courage. Slytherin values ambition, adaptability, and intelligence.” Professor Snape smiled slightly, and Harry got the feeling that it was his favourite house.

 

“Were you in Slytherin?”

 

“Yes. I’m currently its head of house.” As they approached Twilfitt and Tattings, the Professor sat down at a table nearby, pulling a book out of his pocket, and Harry started into the shop. “Take your time.”

 

* * *

 

Professor Snape was definitely right to have brought a book with him - twenty minutes after Harry had first walked in, Madam Helena had barely finished up taking his measurements. He was immensely glad they’d told him to pick up his clothes later on in the day, rather than wait there for them; he had no doubt it would be hours before he’d leave, otherwise., since he’d ordered as many everyday clothes as he thought he could with the money he had.

 

So he breathed a heavy sigh of relief once he stepped back out into the fresh air, and started walking with the Professor to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment a few doors down. He pulled out his supply list, looking over it once more before he bought a set of scales, parchment, quills and ink, a few crystal phials, and a telescope. The last one confused him slightly. What would he need a telescope of all things for?

 

Thankfully, Professor Snape seemed to notice his confusion. “It’s for Astronomy. You’ll be studying it up until fifth year.”

 

“And the other subjects?” Harry felt a little stupid. Everyone else probably knew all of this already.

 

“Charms; Herbology - which is working with magical plants; Defense against the Dark Arts; History of Magic; Transfiguration - changing one object into another, and potions.”

 

So they didn’t do any normal subjects? No maths or English? No science?

 

He just got to learn _magic._ And Harry was definitely okay with that.

 

They stopped for a moment at the cauldron shop Harry had first seen when they arrived to pick up the cauldron the list asked for, and then they visited the Apothecary. The woman he remembered from earlier was still loudly advertising _Frogs eyes, two galleons a pound,_ and Harry smiled at her as they walked in. The place was interesting enough to make up for its pungent smell, something between bad eggs and rotting vegetables. Barrels stood all around the floor, labels on the handles reading things like _Bat Spleens, Beetle Eyes,_ and _Horned Slugs,_ around the walls, plant were stacked on shelves that reached the ceiling, from which hung massive bags of different feathers. He couldn’t help but stare as he looked around. There had to be hundreds of different items around just this room and loads of different ways to use them.

 

Professor Snape eventually pointed him to a wall that read HOGWARTS in large letters, and as he went to pick up two of the first-year sets - just in case he broke anything in the first - he noticed a small selection of real _unicorn_ horns.

 

Magic, he reminded himself again.

 

Their second-to-last stop was Flourish and Blotts - the bookshop Harry had been looking forward to seeing all day. The window showed a few more expensive books; gold-embossed spellbooks that were half his height, and stories with detailed illustrations that waved as he looked at them. Professor Snape followed him into the shop, rather than staying outside, and Harry picked up a basket by the door simply labelled ‘featherweight’ as he searched at first for the books on his supply list. Just like in the Apothecary, there was a stand that held just books for Hogwarts, and he put a stack into his basket before continuing to explore. The shelves were stuffed full of books of all different shapes and sizes: from tiny, silk covered books the size of a postage stamp, to massive, leather-bound ones that resembled a paving slab and took up a shelf to themselves.

 

Flourish and Blotts had to be at least twice the size of the library back near the Dursleys. It was three stories high, and bustling with people trying to dodge one another as they moved from one floor to the next up the narrow staircases. He hovered over _Curses and Countercurses_ by Professor Vindictus Veridian, and put it in his basket, before moving to another shelf of books curiously. The one in front of his face read, _Ancient and Noble Families of the Wizengamot._

 

Ancient and Noble family… Wasn’t that something Griphook had said about him?

 

It went into his basket, alongside _Wizarding Bloodlines, Magical Runes and Symbols,_ and _Understanding Potions: Beginner to Expert._

 

“If you’re trying to catch up, you might want to take this one, as well.” Harry jumped as a boy his age walked up behind him, holding a book out. _Wixen Religion - Traditions Lost._ That made sense, he guessed; he wasn’t going to be able to fit in with wizards if he didn’t know about their culture.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Not a problem.” As he took the book, the boy gave him an approving nod and held out his hand. “Blaise Zabini.”

 

Harry smiled slightly as he took his hand in return. “Harry Potter.” Zabini looked over his face for a moment, then hummed.

 

“You better study up then, Potter.” He pointed Harry to a shelf on the other side of the floor, and he noticed Zabini had an accent he couldn’t quite place. “You might want to begin there, there’s only a month ‘til Hogwarts begins.” He walked up to a woman who’d been calling him, and then turned to say, “I’ll see you around, Potter.”

 

Harry stared after him for a moment. Zabini seemed nice, but also had a similar attitude to the goblins, one that seemed to say, ‘I know something you don’t’.  Maybe it was a good idea to try and get on his good side, then?

 

He walked over to the books he’d pointed out to Harry, and raised an eyebrow at the titles. _A Guide to Magical Society,_ read the first, and the other in the stack was titled _Poise, Polish, and Presence: An Heir’s Guide to Etiquette._ Had he really been that obvious? He needed to change _that._

 

Harry pushed a few more books into the basket, and finally forced himself downstairs to pay when he realised how many he’d picked out. Professor Snape raised an eyebrow when he started putting them all out onto the counter, and the woman manning the till seemed to mirror his expression. But he handed over the galleons quickly, taking one of the Owl Order forms he saw on the counter, and the Professor unshrank his trunk long enough for Harry to stack his books in one of the compartments he’d decided would be his own library of sorts.

 

He left Flourish and Blotts feeling happier than he’d been in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Please comment or kudos, whether for good or bad, cause I didn't proofread this at all.
> 
> Ollivander's'll be next chapter, so keep your eyes peeled!


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